Anna At Baker Street
by Sargant Sarcasm
Summary: A shadow from John's past presents a case for him and Sherlock, however when the shadow appears to need the two boys, how could they possibly turn her away? I mean, while caring won't help save her, Sherlock and John find themselves caring for the shadow immensely. SherlockXOC, JohnXSarah


**A/N: Hey guys, so I just finished watching the Sherlock series from BBC on (the resource of most of the beginnings to my obsessions...er rather...fanfic worthy ones...) and the idea of a girl being in the 221C flat underneath them (where they found the tennis shoes in the series 1 finale "The Great Game"). But not just a usual girl, no, someone who could keep up with and even compete with Sherlock. Like The Woman but less...Dominatrix...**

**Anyway, my computer crashed on Vista so I have to use Google Documents to write, so the chapters might be shorter than usual, but give me a break...**

Chapter 1: Annabeth Merry

John Watson wasn't a stranger in Afghanistan and had grown to have strong friendships with some of his patients. One of whom was an orphan named Joshua Merry. He was tall and strong, but still thin and fit. He was in his 20's, younger than Watson but not young enough to still be in "the system". He went to the Army to be able to support his 15 year old sister, Annabeth Merry. She wrote letters to Josh often. She'd playfully tease him, joke around, and try to cover up the spots where her tears smeared her ink. In John's last year Josh had told him that Annabeth wanted to know if she could write to John too, considering the fact that in Anna's eyes John had saved many people. The first letter thanked him immensely for not letting her older brother get lonely or bored and had a picture of the two, sent to the doctor for giggles.

The picture showed a 14 year old auburn haired teenager with her older brother smiling into the camera. She wore a simple T-shirt with a graphic design on it and a black jacket. Her brother, about a foot taller than her was bent at the waist, his straight blonde hair a stark difference from her dark auburn, but their faces were the same. Honest green eyes, a dash of freckles across the bridge of the nose, a mischievous smile. They were outside a school in the middle of spring from the looks of it.

It was an amazing photo John reflected as he looked at it whilst sitting in his chair in the middle of his flat. Sherlock was going on and on about..something. John had spaced out when he saw the email asking for his help from Anna. He had got up and gotten a small box that he kept Anna's letters and various pictures in and sorted through it before finding the photo. He looked up and sighed through his nose as Sherlock finally took notice of the box.

"John, did you just listen to a word I just said?" Sherlock asked from the kitchen where he was currently tinkering with an experiment.

"Nope, I...I have a personal matter to attend to."

"John, what's that picture of?" Sherlock asked as he glided over to the back of the doctor's chair and looked over his shoulder.

"An Army mate of mine and his little sister," John answered.

"Well what do they want?"

"His little sister is in town and emailed me, wanting to get together and tell me her case in person," Watson answered.

"When and where?" Sherlock asked looking down at John's watch. John did the same and sighed.

"An hour, and here."

XxXxXxX

An hour and a few minutes later the pair heard a doorbell. John got up and walked downstairs to get it and ordered Sherlock to stay put. No use scaring the poor girl. He opened the door to see her, about twenty years old now. She was 5' 5" and slim with a nice figure, not overbearing, but definitely pretty. Her auburn hair had grown out and had been layered and straighten to about her shoulder blades. She was wearing a heavy black trench coat and black fedora.

"Dr. Watson!" She all but screamed before hugging the taller man.

"Anna! I haven't heard from you since before I moved back to London, how are you?" John asked.

"Well I just got back to England after working with the U.S. Secret Service. American love a good genius Brit," She smiled and pulled away before being ushered inside, away from the venomous weather, "And I've read your blog. Keep yourself busy, don't you, Doctor?"

"Either that or I risk the boredom of one Sherlock Holmes."

"I've heard of him. Always described as the most brilliant man you'd ever want to thank and punch in the face at the same time. Must be exciting to work with him," She smiled brightly before taking off her coat to reveal a cropped dark grey jacket with far too many zippers, a black and white graphic top, grey skinny jeans, and black boots decorated with buckles.

"It has its up and downs," He replied with an equally as bright smile.

"I heard my name and couldn't resist," A certain Sherlock appeared beside John, "I'm Sherlock Holmes, pleased to meet you."

"I know. The name's Annabeth Merry, and I have case for you," She answered while returning a firm yet gentle handshake. Sherlock took her in as he watched her settle onto the couch on the other side of the flat with his hands in a player-like position in front of his face. Her hands were calloused meaning she used them frequently, more than the average person, meaning her job probably involved typing and writing, and maybe she played an instrument. There were bags under her eyes that she tried to hide with makeup but failed to fully hide them given the persistent rain outside. So she had a long night, probably at work or worrying.

She was only twenty, but absurdly independent meaning either she had bad parents or she was on orphan. She carried herself like a soldier, but was too young to actually be in the force meaning she came from a family of soldiers, who probably wouldn't just ignore their children so orphan was looking better.

However she also had a certain respect about her that meant she was proud of something about herself, not herself exactly as she had poor self esteem and self concept, so probably the older brother he saw in the picture had raised/taught and/or protected her and she was proud of it. He was her parent.

She didn't seem like the type to easily make new friends so she was probably worrying about her older brother.

Sherlock sat back and smirked as John walked into the room carrying a tray of tea for the three of them.

"So are you going to tell us what's wrong with your brother or not?" Sherlock asked her, breaking the silence. She chuckled and shook her head.

"You're quite the genius. Must get boring having to deal with us mortals. Anyway, I have a case for you two as I've already said," She turned to Watson at this point, yet avoided eye contact, "Josh was taken for our flat sometime between six p.m. and four this morning. I know this because I had facetimed him before my flight and caught up with some friends at a pub after. I got off Facetime at six and home at four. When I got home," She paused again and rooted through her pocket to get her cell phone. She pulled it out and pulled up a picture of a neat apartment with bloodstains on the wall and a trail of blood leading off camera to what Holmes and Watson presumed was the door, "this was waiting for me."

"Did you sleep there last night?" John asked incredulously.

"Yeah, why?" She shrugged.

"What if they came back?"

"I had my louisville slugger and Josh's handgun."

"Well Josh has military training and he was taken! What makes you think you could put up a better fight?"

"Hm...that never really occurred to me. I guess it's a good thing they didn't come back."

John sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hand. This was going to be interesting.


End file.
